Like Humans Do
by theboywiththebread
Summary: Being in love is not always easy, and nations in love are no exception. Although Russia and China love each other for who they are and not what they are, the northern nation can't help but worry that being a country means that his love story will not get a happy ending. RoChu. Oneshot.


**If you are reading this, it means that I have successfully figured out how to publish stories from my iPod. Anyway, I decided to try my hand at writing present tense, and thus this fic was born.**

* * *

The heat is inescapable, even when standing in the shade. Although Russia hates the stark, bitter cold of his own winters and often wishes that his homeland could be warmer, his body is used to the cold, and the heat is taking its toll on him.

It's not that it isn't nice — Russia would much rather be here than freezing at home — it's just that it would be nicer if he wasn't dressed in a thick coat and scarf, if he hadn't lugged his suitcase from the airport to the house that he was now standing outside of, if he wasn't so god damn _sticky_. His entire being is slick with sweat; his clothes are sticking to his body and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He is panting and drowsy and probably a little sunburned, and he knows that he must look ridiculous.

The door swings open, and there stands the man that Russia came all this way to see. His black hair is loose from its usual ponytail and he looks so gorgeous, a far cry from the sweaty, out-of-breath Russian standing before him.

"China," Russia breathes.

"Russia," China says with a smile, and then their arms are around each other.

For what seems like a very long time, they stand in the doorway, holding each other close. It has been too long since they have been together like this; their schedules are busy and while they often see each other at meetings, it's not the same as being alone together and having time to kill doing whatever they please.

"I'm sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross," Russia says when he eventually pulls away from the smaller man.

"That's okay," says China, "have a shower, dinner will be ready once you're out."

It seems strange to Russia that dinner is about to be served; his body is still running on Moscow time, four hours behind China.

Walking into China's house — one of his many houses, the one most commonly used for their romantic trysts — Russia is relieved to feel the cool air against his skin.

Although China often tells him that it is not that hot here, Russia has noticed that it is usually hot enough for the smaller man to have his air conditioning turned on.

Russia has been here often enough to know where everything in the house is kept — he is able to grab a towel for after his shower and some clothes in his size without needing China's help.

He showers quickly and moves to the bedroom to dress. Russia is sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt when he feels the presence of another person behind him. Sure enough, China is there, holding a towel and rubbing it against the bigger man's silver-blonde locks.

"Are you ready for dinner? I've made lots of food," he says as he dries Russia's hair.

The bigger man nods, albeit a little half heartedly. Russia loves China's cooking, he really does, but he is not in the mood for a big meal right now, and his lover always cooks big meals.

"You don't have to push yourself to eat all of it the way you usually do," says China, resting his head on the bigger man's shoulder from behind. It's as if the other man is a mind reader — Russia does not believe that he is as easy to read as China makes him seem.

"I love your food," says Russia.

"I'm glad. You need to eat properly — what happened to all that chub you used to have, huh?" asks China, slipping his hand under Russia's shirt and gently patting his stomach — while not exactly flat, the taller man's body is definitely not as bulky as it used to be.

"Tough times can be tough on the body, I guess," says Russia, placing his larger hand over China's dainty one.

The dark-haired man sighs.

"You've had tough times your whole life," he says sadly, "we both have."

"Let's not talk about that now. We're together, and that makes me happy," says Russia, turning to kiss the other man on the lips.

"It makes me happy too," says China, and then he places his lips on Russia's again.

After a few more kisses, they make their way to the dining room. As promised, the table is covered with food. China has cooked for Russia too many times to count, and he knows exactly which dishes are the bigger man's favourites. There they all are, laid out on the table on front of him; although mere moments ago Russia was thinking about how hungry he wasn't, he knows he isn't going to be able to refuse — not just because he'd feel bad if China went to the trouble of making his favourite meals and then he didn't eat any, but because it all looks so delectable and he _wants_ to eat.

They sit down across the table from each other and start to eat. Even after all these years of dining with the Chinese man, Russia still has trouble using chopsticks. He watches with awe as China uses them so expertly and wonders how it is possible for such a difficult technique to be mastered. Sure, China has been around for thousands of years and has had a lot of time to practice, but Russia has seen normal people in this country and others eat skillfully and gracefully with chopsticks just like China does. Russia has been using them (or trying to) for longer than many of these people, and yet he is still clumsy and slow with them.

"I've never gotten the hang of these," he says between mouthfuls, and China smiles.

"You're better than you used to be, and you're definitely better than some other people I know. Have you seen America try to use chopsticks? It's not a pretty sight," says China.

Russia laughs.

Here they talk of the other nations not as allies and enemies but as friends, family and acquaintances. When they are together like this, it is almost as if the two of them cease to be the Russian Federation and the People's Republic of China and simply become two people. Still, it is impossible for them to completely forget the fact that they are countries that have suffered and will continue to suffer everything that comes with nationhood.

"Moments like these make everything we go through worthwhile," says China, reaching across the table to take the other man's hand.

Russia nods. He understands completely — although they will never be able to grow old together like their people can, if everything goes right, they will spend far more time together than mere humans get the chance to. They will live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Normal people with their normal lifespans can never spend that long with the ones that they love.

"Do you ever wish that we were just regular people?" Russia asks.

"Sometimes," China replies straight away, "but when we wish to be human, we wish to be like the happy ones. Not all of them have perfect lives — the wars that cause us so much misery kill them by the thousands. We always have our people and our culture to be proud of, and tomorrow to look forward to. They don't."

Russia nods. He knows to well how the people suffer, he has seen so many lives torn apart by his armies, his leaders, _himself_. China has seen it too — all of the nations have, and yet they hold on to the misconception that being human is a walk in the park.

"Let's not discuss such depressing things over dinner," China says, giving Russia a warm smile.

"It's a really nice dinner. Your food always is," Russia says as he continues to eat.

The rest of the meal passes uneventfully. Russia finishes first, too full to take another mouthful, and China, always a fast eater, finishes soon after.

"Bed?" China asks, and Russia giggles.

"You're such an old man, going to bed so early," says the bigger man.

"I woke up too early this morning," China says.

There's nothing defensive about the way he says it; he does not need to act defensive around Russia.

"I don't mind just lying and holding you while you sleep, even though I'm not tired," says Russia.

China smiles.

"That sounds nice. I guess you won't fall asleep too soon because of the time zone difference," says China.

As active and talkative as he was during the meal, the smaller man is beginning to look very sleepy. After brushing his teeth and tying his hair back, he slips out of his clothes and climbs into bed.

Russia takes a little longer, unpacking some of the things he will need in the morning before joining China in bed. The smaller man has turned the bedroom television on, and he hands Russia the remote as soon as the bigger man climbs into bed beside him.

"I can fall asleep with it on, and it'll give you something to do until you get tired," he says.

Russia flicks through the channels for a little while. Almost all of them are in Chinese, which he does not understand very well, but he finds a channel playing an English movie with subtitles.

Russia wraps his arms around the smaller man and settles in for the night. The air conditioning has started to feel cold instead of refreshingly cool, so it is nice to have a warm body to hold on to.

It doesn't take long for China to fall asleep, and Russia finds himself paying more attention to his lover's sleeping face than to what is happening on the television. He could spend an eternity watching Yao; Russia considers himself so lucky having a lover who is beautiful as well as kind. Sometimes he thinks that he does not deserve China's love — all he can give the smaller man in return is his own love, which can't be much of a prize.

Russia knows that he will not be able to pay any attention to the movie, and so he turns the television off and places the remote on the bedside table. There is light streaming in through the gaps in the curtains, so he can faintly see the man sleeping beside him.

China has the loveliest face that Russia has ever seen. He looks so delicate and feminine and beautiful; one could easily look at him and assume that he was soft and fragile on the inside too. Russia knows how untrue that is. Although he looks like someone who needs to be protected, China is strong and powerful. He has always been like that — Russia remembers being a child and wondering if he would ever be as strong and important as his southern neighbour. At the time, it had seemed impossible — China was so much bigger and wiser than the tiny, violet-eyed child from the snowy north. It had come as a surprise when Russia had grown up and found that he now towered over the other nation. Had China always been so petite and tiny?

Russia snuggles closer to the other man, head resting on China's pillow. He can feel the other man's breath on his neck, softly tickling his skin. Russia places a quick kiss on China's forehead and then closes his eyes. Although his body does not need sleep just yet, he is comfortable and content. It will not take very long for him to drift into a deep slumber.

* * *

Russia wakes with a start to the sound of China's voice. His own breathing his frantic and he does not know why.

"Russia? Are you okay?" China asks, gently shaking the bigger man's shoulders.

"Y-yes," Russia says, his voice quivering for no reason that he can think of.

He hears a click, and light floods the room. China moves his hand away from the bedside lamp and places it on the Russian's cheek.

"What happened?" the smaller man asks, his voice calm and gentle. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Russia thinks for a moment — he cannot remember the events of the dream he just woke from, but he knows the feelings — regret, longing, emptiness. It reminds him of long ago, when he and China drifted apart. The feeling brings up memories of the cold, hostile look on the face of his former ally, former friend, former lover. At the time, he didn't know if he and China would ever reconcile — for all Russia knew, the love that they had shared would never be reignited.

"Hush, it's okay," China says, gently stroking the taller man's silver-blonde hair.

"I never hated you," Russia murmurs, perhaps too quiet for the other to hear.

"Hmmm?" is China's reply.

"Before, when we weren't on good terms, I never hated you. Often when I've been at war with the other nations or even just had a severe disagreement, I've found myself hating them, even just for a short time. But with you… I could never bring myself to feel that way about you, and I always hoped that you didn't hate me either," says Russia.

"I never hated you either," China says.

Russia nods.

"I know that now, but I couldn't be sure back then," he says.

They lay there for a moment before China starts to tug at the sheets — their bodies are tangled up in them; Russia thinks that he must have been thrashing around in his sleep. He is glad that he didn't accidentally hurt China — none of the other man's exposed skin is bruised or sore looking. For the longest time, hurting China has been one of the Russian's fears, even though he knows that he doesn't have to worry much about it because his southern neighbour is neither weak nor fragile.

"What if we grow apart again?" asks Russia, worry evident on his face. The possibility has occurred to him before, but now is the first time that he has thought to voice it.

"We won't," says China. He sounds certain of it.

"We might. We're on very good terms now, but who knows what will happen in the future. You of all people know what it's like to have your country suddenly change its government or even its entire philosophy and then all of a sudden you've got a whole new set of allies and enemies," says Russia.

He hates thinking about losing China, but it could happen. China, who is not naïve or stupid, must know that.

"I love _you_," China says, a long slim finger pressed against Russia's chest, "not your government. It's Russia the person that I'm in love with, not Russia the country. There are other nations that my leaders and my people get along with just as well as they do with yours, and although those nations are my very dear friends, I don't love them the way I love you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

Russia nods slowly, and China looks at him as if he is not quite sure that the bigger man understands.

"The things we do together — we kiss, we have sex, we hold each other through the night — you would think that us doing these things would mean that our countries are on the brink of becoming one, but they're not! We love each other as people, not as nations, and together we can fight whatever fate has in store for us," says China.

Russia can see the look of determination in his lover's golden brown eyes — it is a look that he has seen before. He knows that the smaller man can be very stubborn when he wants to, and he knows that if anyone can try to fight fate, it is the man who is laying next to him.

"Can we really?" asks Russia, almost afraid to hope that the raven-haired man's words are true.

"We already are, aren't we?" is China's reply, followed by a kiss on the cheek and a quick flick of the light switch.

In the darkness, Russia allows himself to believe what China has just said — perhaps the fact that they are lying in each other's embrace is proof of that.

Even if it isn't, Russia knows one thing for certain: he loves China. Not the mass of land to the south of his own country, but the man in his arms who has told him a thousand times that he loves him too.


End file.
